Outside a tiny white house that wants to be a Chicago Bungalow when it grows up, we hear a phone ring. Inside, the TV is all snow and static. The answering machine picks up. We hear, "Yeah it's Jed. I'm not around. Leave a message." Someone already has. "BLOOD! BLOOD EVERYWHERE! Where there's blood, there's GOOOOOOOOOOORE!" We hear Dean leaving a message that they think something's happening to hunters. I guess we can still call him 'the late Dean Winchester' despite his resurrection, because if the bloody, shredded mess on the floor is Jed, he's already got that message, thanks Dean. Time for the METAL TEETH CHOMP!
Pardon me for saying so, I'm sure, but you cannot just steal Demian's lines like that." Oh, Raoul, shhh. I can't converse and recap the way Demian can. I'm new to this business, I'm just trying to put in a few familiar touches for any of the regular readers who make it this far. "Probably not many." I know, Raoul, but I'm doing my best. "It isn't much, is it? Hmmmm. Yes, all the more reason for you to trip Demian with my tail and grab his livelihood from his magical recapping hands." Wait? You broke Demian's shoulder, Raoul? "Why strictly speaking, yes, but clearly you used some spell on me. Now I assure you, this is not my way, but you've left me no choice. I must kill and eat you, to avenge my dear friend."I fly out of my office, through the living room, up the stairs, and down the hall. Raoul is hot on my tail, and I do mean hot, but not like Sam, Dean, and heaven forgive me, Castiel. Raoul's breath scorches me. I know my only recourse and I'm not afraid to use it. I flee to the bedroom at the end of the hall, and shut the door behind me, but neither brace nor lock it. Instead, I flip on the light and walk over by the bed. The pretty bed with the cream colored headboard painted with roses and ribbons. The bed with the pink canopy and bedspread, and pink sheets with white polka dots. Jonas Brothers posters, and pictures of things like ballet shoes and pretty flowers adorn the walls, and there are dolls and stuffed animals everywhere. Raoul bursts through the door, ready to lunge for me, when he stops dead in his tracks. "You! You! You horrible, horrible fiend. All I was going to do was kill and eat you, and yes, cook you first, I'm not a savage I assure you, and yet you've led me into this hellish trap." The small lump under the pink covers squirms and sighs. "Is that what I fear it is?" shrieks Raoul. "Yes," I hiss. "But be quiet, or you'll wake her." "Her?" asks Raoul. His reptilian eyes are bright with terror. His gulp is audible. He trembles in fear. "Yes, her, my daughter...my little girl." For once, Raoul is speechless. I tell him in no uncertain terms to leave my house and not to contact me until he has accepted his guilt for Demian's injury, and to make sure that's after my deadline has passed. He hesitates, so I pull the covers down just far enough so that he can see my pretty little one's wavy hair, rosy cheeks, delicate lips, and her jammies that read, "Little Miss Sunshine." Whining something about dirty pool, he hustles as quickly as his considerable haunches will allow, down the stairs, back outside and into the night. With any luck, he'll go straight back to Chicago, because I have work to do.